Dust

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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When I went to look at what had long been hidden, A jewel laid long ago in a secret place, I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire, But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face. I almost gave my life long ago for a thing That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes, It is strange how often a heart must be broken, Before the years can make it wise.

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